The Purest of Sins, the Darkest of Tragedies
by IAMNOTAGIRLBUTASTORMWITHSKIN02
Summary: I wish I could say with a certain heart that I wish John damned. But if I count my husband's sins, I must count my own. Dramatic monologue from the veiw of one Elizabeth Proctor.


Heaven has been laid to waste in favour of a whore's kingdom; in favour of Satan and his concubines! The purity of Salem has been beaten down by the flaming whips of a whore's vengeance, a whore that took my husband from me when my heart grew cold and laid with him; a whore who looked upon my good Christian ways with a vain attempt at veiling her loathing of me. And what has that vengeance left in her wake? Nothing but ruined families and destroyed innocence.

Seventeen years ago, I took up the name of Proctor with joy, love and a blessing from The Lord. In those seventeen years we loved each other chastely and purely. We grew, with The Lord's Will, a family. I carried his children inside me, and they grew to be Christians with the same goodness as my husband, the same goodness my husband had until _Abigail Williams _tainted him with her skin, until _Abigail Williams _blackened his soul with her dark seduction and damaged his fidelity.

I do understand, however, that my husband's sin is not born only from Abigail Williams' seduction. My husband's sin was brought about by my own frigidity, my own coldness. After the birth of my third son a terrible illness came to strike me. I would wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, and through the days I had little energy to even leave my own bed. I felt trapped, as if iron chains had been wrapped around my heart, tightening every time I saw the face of my baby, or husband. I felt like I was drowning in an ocean where everyone around me could breathe, not able to see me gasping for breath through burning lungs. I could not will myself to muster up the strength to love my husband, and every kiss, every chaste touch we shared felt hollow and forced. I could not see my face without questioning why John chose me as his wife, why he insisted that he would love me, and only me, until our deaths. I had the dark circles of illness under my eyes, faint lines already in my face.

The Bible tells us that adultery is a sin, and a sin will drive us into the arms of the Devil. But my household was a godly one! My husband is _good, _not a lover of Satan and his sins! Is a single sin the blind proof of my husband's evil? Is it? When he first laid with Abigail he laid himself in Satan's embrace did he not? Did he favour the corruption of Hell, after tasting its poison, rather than the goodness of Heaven and the pure love of God? I wish I could say with a certain heart that I wish John damned. But if I count my husband's sins, I must count my own.

I have always tried my hardest to be a good Christian woman. I had never entertained the thought of a sin. My purity was one I never wished to taint. When they arrested me for tales of witchery, I went with a certainty of death. I never took it upon myself to try sinning and saving my life, not at the expense of my soul. Yet, all my iron clad morals and beliefs were damned, along with my soul, in a single moment.

I have sinned.

I lied in court about John's lechery. I _sinned. _For the love of my husband, my _John, _I sinned_. _I could not bear to hear his crimes sound out from Judge Danforth's lips, like cruel snakes twisting and writhing in my ears. John's goodness was renowned. His family's name, one so reputable every soul knew they would find a good Christian and a good friend, was hanging by the thin threads of the truth. His name was everything to him. It was his honour; it was his reputation. He was John _Proctor, _a kind and generous man with a lot of land and well respected throughout the town. He was a _Proctor, _known for their loyalty to God and their love of Him. Proctors were known to be good, hard-working Christians. John's name was _everything; _just as every man's name is.

So why, _why, _would he let his good name be torn asunder?

I regret only that a rush of joy had surged through me when he chose to rip up his false confessional. John's confession was nothing more than a scapegoat for the court, a tool to be used to prevent revolution among Salem's people. The thought that he'd rather die a good Christian man, the same man I married those years ago, rather than live a liar, had caused a great storm of happiness to well up inside of me. And when he swept me up into his arms he kissed me, fuelled with all the love and passion saved for those in Heaven. It was a kiss filled with the love I had forsaken for cold frigidity; and as my heart thudded with a desperate fire that I sought to quench, I knew him again.

And then he left, with all the goodness of Heaven waiting for him.

Through my tears, I smiled.


End file.
